


Esse Quam Videri

by trufflemores



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Meta, Romance, Soliloquy style fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 07:45:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13383309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufflemores/pseuds/trufflemores
Summary: "To be, rather than to appear."Iris reflects on her love for Barry.





	Esse Quam Videri

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mehlpomene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mehlpomene/gifts).



> A fic for a friend who graciously gifted me an adorable Dawn Allen piece. I was inspired to write something sweet and simple regarding Westallen in response, and EQV emerged.
> 
> Enjoy!

Iris loves Barry because she loves waiting in line with him.

 

She loves him because he brushes snow off her dad’s car without being asked and surrenders shotgun so he can sit next to her in the back.  She loves him because he lets her wear his favorite sweaters; she loves him because he lets her hold his index finger for no other reason than she wants to.  She loves him because he’s a disorganized pile of clothes, a god of old who smells like bergamot, a handsome bow-tied date plucked from classic film stardom.  She loves him because he lets her steal his fries.  She loves him because even when he is covered in dirt and city grime, slack-shouldered and trembling on his feet, hair spiking with sweat when he runs a hand through it, she still hugs him without hesitation.

 

She loves him even when he is sour, sulky, and stubborn.  She loves him even when she is pushing back against him and his misdirected emotions, his snappishness, his stiffness, his insistence on doing things alone.  She loves him even when they aren’t speaking to each other, loves him because her routine misses him and his ability to fill the silence without saying a word.  She loves him even when he’s wrong, loves him even when he’s gone.

 

She loves him and his stupid mistakes, written plain on his face in the indigo-blue bruising around the bridge of his nose because he got hurt doing exactly what he shouldn’t have done.  She loves him and his sick days, spending those long, lazy afternoons with him as he sleeps belly-down on the couch and she sits on the floor, writing cajolingly about his alter ego.  She loves him and his ineradicable idiosyncrasies, how he rubs the back of his neck and pads barefoot around the apartment, puts his gloves on before his coat and holds the door open for her.

 

She loves him because he still lights up over cheesecake and laughs at bad puns, an Olympian with a taste for the divine and an earthly sense of humor.  She loves him because he is still shy but willing to try new experiences, fear absent even when failure is imminent simply because he trusts that there is something worthwhile in the process.  She loves him because he still teases her when they bowl together, swapping their names on the scoreboard and laughing when she finally catches the switch.  She loves him because he still giggles like a fourteen-year-old over _Star Wars_ paraphernalia, insisting on showing her his newest finds.

 

She loves him even though he sometimes picks up on tangents she doesn’t understand and she has no hope of recovering the conversation from its present point but listens, anyway.  She loves him even though he falls prey to other metahumans, dangling from the grasp of a monster, gazing at her bleary-eyed and apologetic, and she doesn’t want him to be sorry in his last breaths.  She loves him even though he forgets to check in and apologizes belatedly, caught up in his own world, and she finds relief in her anger, rest in her fatigue.

 

She loves that he loves her, making time for her like he has every second to spare, making an effort for her like he has steadier legs than he does, making a life with her even when the world tries to snatch it away from them.  She loves the way he touches her, easy but reverent, like he knows she could disappear on him, she could walk away, but she never will.  She loves that he kisses her like she is finer than gold and more precious than the stardust they’re both made of.  She loves that he loves her like he has to prove it, like she is worth loving loudly, like their dynamic is something worth keeping.

 

Picking up their coffees at the counter, Barry slides into the seat across from her and Iris knows they wanted to talk about their meta of the week, but for a moment she simply takes his hand and squeezes it, letting the conversation slide for a few frames of eternity.  Surrounded by the golden light of the coffee shop and his own speedster warmth, she smiles.  He squeezes her hand, thumb brushing over her ring finger, and smiles back.

 

And Iris loves him because she doesn't need to say "I love you" out loud for him to hear it.


End file.
